


Bury Me in Satin

by zetsubonna



Series: Easy Living [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Animal Death, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a young age, Bucky has always had a big heart, and a tendency to root for the underdog. Or cat, in this case.</p><p>Z's note: This is the saddest fic I have written to date. You may possibly cry. HEED THE TAGS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from, "If I Die Young," by The Band Perry.

When he’s seven years old, Bucky finds a little gray tomcat.

He’s not quite grown, maybe seven months, but he’s lived in alleys and he’s not at all tame. He’s hungry, he’s battle-worn. He’s missing three quarters of his left ear and all of his right eye, but he stalks like he’s big and mean, and his growl is rasping and harsh. He never hesitates to hiss, and he’s got teeth, sharp and white and straight.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when the cat scratches him, or bites his ankle when he gets too close to the warm vent where he likes to sleep. His own fault, he figures, for being too nosy. Can’t get mad at a cat for being a cat. He swabs his wounds and tapes them up with plasters, goes back later and tries again.

Minnie and James Fitzpatrick are aware of the tom. They know Bucky’s sneaking bits of food from his meals around in his pocket. They’ve said, “You don’t need pets, you have a little brother,” at least a dozen times, and the subject is closed. He doesn’t need pets, he has Ricky. (And Becky, but she’s too close to his age to count as a plaything.)

Bucky calls him Scraps, ‘cause he’s a scrapper.

Scraps eventually learns that Bucky is not going to tie tin cans to his tail, or kick him, or chase him with a broom. It takes weeks, but eventually Scraps waits for Bucky in the alley between school and home. He doesn’t like to be touched, and he refuses to be picked up or cuddled, even when it’s damn near freezing out, but he will let Bucky scratch his head, and stroke his remaining velvety ear.

Bucky, determined and patient, and eventually he’s brave enough to get a nice box full of old clothes that smell like him, because it’s going to freeze out soon and he’s worried. The laundry that has that vent Scraps likes to sleep in is going out of business soon, and he won’t be warm come winter if he doesn’t come home with Bucky. He’ll talk his parents into it, they’ll understand. He’ll keep Scraps away from Ricky, he knows that’s what they’re actually worried about, that the cat will scratch the baby. He’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.

Scraps breaks out of the attic within a week. Bucky left the window open so he could get some air. He’s tearing across the street a block from Bucky’s house, trying to get back to his alley, and he gets hit by a milk truck in the wee hours of the morning. Bucky finds the body. It’s already cold. He buries Scraps in his box under a nice tree with lots of birds, so he can watch them.

* * *

 Bucky’s nine when he meets Steve Rogers. Steve’s got a dinky, broke down chest and a wheeze. He’s working on a nice shiner when Bucky swoops in to interfere with the neighborhood bullies picking on him, and it costs Bucky one of his few remaining baby teeth. Eventually, Steve’s got a bad ear from being punched in the head too many times, and he squints to see, but he stalks like he’s big and mean. He never hesitates to shoot off his mouth, and he’s got teeth, and they’re white and straight when he smiles.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when Steve cusses him. He doesn’t get mad when Steve tells him off for asking after his breathing, his back, his mother. His own fault, he figures, for being too nosy. Can’t get mad at a cat for being a cat.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky, ten, only Steve’s best friend for a year, stripping off his shirt so Sarah can wash it after Steve’s thrown up  on him and shrugging it off, only slightly self-conscious about his pudgy baby-fat tummy.

“Vomit’s nothing, Stevie. Jackie’s  _colicky_. D’you know how lucky you are to be an only child?”

* * *

 Eleven, tossing a cold compress into Steve’s lap in the chair and rolling up his sleeves to strip Steve’s bed while Sarah  _has_  to be at work.

“This ain’t nothing. Don’t get so huffy, you’ll get bent outta shape. Last time Becky got that upset she sobbed so hard she puked all over again.”

* * *

 Twelve, curled up on the floor by Steve’s bed, stubbornly pretending to be asleep despite everyone’s best efforts, because Mrs. Barnes can’t lift him and his pop’s out of town, so if he can fake-sleep hard enough they’ll let him stay the night.

* * *

 At thirteen, Bucky has to be pried out of his bed after his tonsillectomy because Steve’s been trying his hardest to pay back all the ‘orderly work’ Sarah’s gotten out of Bucky over five years in two weeks, up to and including being calf-eyed into spoon feeding Bucky his damned peppermint ice cream,  _and_ his soup,  _even_ after Bucky tries to get Steve to eat half of it and Steve threatens to up-end it in his lap.

* * *

At fourteen, Jackie generously offers Steve a picture he’s done of a dark-haired, too-tall bride and a short, stick-skinny blond groom, because he’s already drawn it before, and Bucky hurries Steve out to the baseball park before Steve can ask any questions. Ricky snickers and Bucky closes the door in his face.

“Don’t need no short-legged shrimps with hissy giggles tagging along,” he says acidly, and nevermind that Ricky’s almost as tall as Steve already.

* * *

Fifteen, Steve almost dies of pneumonia, and nobody will let Bucky in to see him, so he sneaks out the window and walks all the way to the Rogers’ in the dark, then climbs up the fire escape and reads to Steve, who won’t let him in, in the street-lamp light-  _The Tin Woodman of Oz_ , with voices, because Steve’s been missing it while Bucky’s been reading it to Ricky and Jack. If Sarah hears, she doesn’t say anything, and Bucky’s convinced he’s gotten away with it.

* * *

Sixteen, and Steve almost dies of scarlet fever, and Bucky can’t sleep and just stares out the window after he’s done two kids’ worth of homework and barely eats and James Fitzpatrick drags him out of the house and talks Mr. Johnson at the garage into giving Bucky a part-time job to keep him busy and get him out of the damned house.

Every day on his way back, he glances at the Cyclone poster on the train station wall and swallows back bile, and goes back the next day to see if he can work himself too tired to feel.

* * *

Seventeen, and Bucky gets a camera for his birthday, and takes pictures of everything that holds still long enough, including Steve, who dislikes having his picture taken and one of the shots that ends up on Bucky’s pin board when he can finally get his film developed is Steve rolling his eyes and flipping Bucky the bird, and Sarah is horrified and Steve tries every day for a week to get Bucky to tear it up.

“Nah,” Bucky says. “That’s the real Steve Rogers and I ain’t letting it go.”

* * *

Eighteen, and Steve plants a kiss on him that makes him curl from hair to toes. Bucky pins him to the wall of the elevator and feels like it’s finally his turn to almost die.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested, "dinners at the Barnes household."

The profound quiet of the small apartment Steve shared with his mother was something that seemed so ordinary. It was peaceful, good for studying, reading books, drawing, talking in unhurried, thoughtful voices. Steve could usually hear his mother singing absently to herself in Irish from his room as she cooked or ironed her uniforms for the convalescent ward. There was occasionally the crackle of their patchy wireless, when it wasn't broken, or the passing by of traffic or bicycle bells. He never thought about how quiet it was until he was in a place that wasn't quiet at all, like Bucky's house.

Bucky was the oldest of four, and his father being home from one of his endless trips didn't quiet the kids. Instead, James Fitzpatrick's booming laugh would roll right into the rest, usually setting off Minnie's playful scolding in its wake. Bucky read out loud to Rick and Jack when he wasn't helping in the kitchen, and Becky's nagging filled any holes in the wall of sound. Mrs. Barnes, especially, worried sometimes that Steve found all their raucous chatter overwhelming, but somehow it was the opposite.

It might have been the half-dozen pairs of bright gray blue eyes over mostly crooked smiles when he walked through the door behind Bucky, or the way the place was always warm and smelled like food. Bucky and Becky, too close in age for either of their tastes, bickering like a pair of chickens, Bucky shoving Becky, Becky smacking Bucky, Rick pretending he was above and beyond it all, Jack tugging on Steve's sleeve to show him a new picture or baseball card- it was droning, sure, but droning in a good way, like a fan in the summertime.

Steve's mother was a good cook, sure, but if she made a big meal, it meant they'd be eating the same thing for a week. Which was fine, but Steve couldn't help noticing that it wasn't like that with Mrs. Barnes. Every meal was big, if only because she had five kids to feed- she always included Steve, whether he admitted to being hungry or not.

Bucky cut vegetables from the time he could see over the counter. Becky peeled potatoes and carrots. Rick dried the dishes while Jack patiently swept the floor, his short arms and legs only allowing him four squares of tile at a time. All the while, Minnie orchestrated, gentle but firm, loud enough to be heard over chattering children, bubbling stewpots, boiling kettles, the wireless and the hum of the refrigerator. Steve was usually tasked with making sure the pots didn’t boil over, or putting away the dishes Rick dried.

Nobody sat still, nobody was quiet. Everybody had opinions.

Mr. Barnes shooed all the children out of the kitchen when he was home. He could cut vegetables, sweep the floor, put away the dishes and distract Minnie from her pots with kisses all at the same time. Bucky and Becky rolled their eyes and grinned at each other and Steve. Rick made fake gagging noises, making Jack giggle.

“That’s why we got so many damn brats in the first place,” Mr. Barnes chided Rick. “You oughtta be grateful.”

“Gross!” Rick wailed, which just made Jack laugh harder. Mr. Barnes buried his face in his wife’s neck and made exaggeratedly loud kissing noises.

“Keep eggin’ him on,” Bucky told Rick, nodding sagely. “Maybe we’ll get another sister.”

Becky smacked Bucky’s arm, but she was laughing. Jack looked confused, but giggled anyway.

“It’s bad enough you’re like this when it’s just us,” Rick complained. “We got company.”

“Steve ain’t company,” Becky said, rolling her eyes. “He knows what we’re like.”

“He knows where babies come from, too, I’d bet,” Mr. Barnes added, sly, getting himself a sharp pinch from Mrs. Barnes.

Rick groaned, disgusted, and shook his head. “I gotta be adopted.”

“Not with that mug, you’re not,” Steve muttered, and the rest of the family burst into laughter.

Steve laughed, too, softer, his eyes downcast to the front of his shirt.

Even setting the table was a group affair. Becky and Bucky were in charge of plates and glasses, Rick did the silverware, and Jack made sure everyone had a napkin, even when he wasn’t entirely sure how to fold them. Steve was tasked with placemats, Jack’s cushion to help him see over the table, helping carry food out of the kitchen, whatever Mrs. Barnes could think of.

They held hands to say Grace, thanking God for the food, then asking for His blessings on the union men, the protestors, the hungry at the mission house, the sick, the elderly, the infirm, and the injured. How they finished depended on who was leading the prayer; Mr. Barnes would pause to let anyone who could think of someone else they might help, while Mrs. Barnes would ask each of them directly to think of someone.

Steve asked Bucky about it, once, trying to be as offhand about it as he could.

“The way Dad sees it,” Bucky said, looking up at the sky, hands in his pocket. “If we learned anything from the Crash, it’s that you can’t ever tell who’s gonna hurt next. Might be us again. Best to give out kindness when we can.”

Dinner conversation isn’t so different from Steve’s house. Books, music, politics, people from the neighborhood, whatever comes to mind. And it’s not strange for Steve to be one of multiple visitors, either- friends of the other kids, Mr. Barnes’s associates from the labor groups, Mrs. Barnes’s from the ladies’ auxiliary, or from the church. Steve just nodded when they introduced him to the adults, glancing sideways at Bucky when neither of his parents gave Steve’s last name, like he was just one of theirs.

Bucky just shrugged about it. “Your ma calls me all the same nicknames she calls you,” he pointed out. “Well, the ones that fit, anyways.”

That, Steve had to concede, was fair enough.

The food isn’t much different, either. There’s more of it, sure, and sometimes it’s a little heavier- less milk, less water, less _stretching_ \- but there’s meat or chicken most days and fish on Fridays, that part’s the same. Mrs. Barnes’s recipe book doesn’t have Steve’s mother’s apple bread or colcannon, but she and Becky have been working on a chocolate cake that gets made about three times a year and tastes like what Steve imagines angels eat in Heaven. Mrs. Barnes makes pies, too, and trifle any time she can get her hands on fruit and cream, which is Steve’s mother’s favorite.

Somehow, even with seven people, there’s always enough left over that Steve has some to take home to his mother. He goes through periods where he’s proud, and he doesn’t want to. Sometimes he spends weeks without going to Bucky’s so he can avoid it.

Years later, Steve regrets every invitation he ever turned down. His apartment is quiet.

He misses the noise.


End file.
